


Ouroboros

by St_Salieri



Series: Expecting [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, Post-Series, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-27
Updated: 2007-10-27
Packaged: 2017-11-25 07:47:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/636692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/St_Salieri/pseuds/St_Salieri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buffy and Spike find out that they are having a baby.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

_November 2012_

_Los Angeles_

 

Buffy was waiting for him at the kitchen table when he came home, her hands wrapped around a mug of tea. She wrinkled her nose at the sight of him.

"Wow. Are you trying to start a new fashion statement? You know, contrary to what everyone says, demon guts _aren't_ the new black."

Spike sighed and leaned his battle-ax against the counter, ignoring Buffy's moue of disgust at the blood dripping from the blade onto the floor. After all, the old tile had seen plenty worse over the years. He stripped off his coat and sourly fingered the new holes in it.

"At least Angel looks worse," he muttered. "And speaking of fashion, I wouldn't say no to the advent of the age of indestructible leather. This is the third coat since August."

Buffy rose and took the coat from him, inspecting it critically before dumping it over the back of one of the chairs. "Yup, looks like it's destined to become little leather dust rags or something." She squinted at the mangled coat. "Can you even dust with leather?"

Spike shrugged, wandering over the refrigerator and peering inside. "Don't know," he said absently.

"You'd know the answer to that if you ever dusted," Buffy said pointedly.

"And yet you're the one who's asking," he pointed out in return. "Can't say I've ever seen you at it yourself." He stood in the open door and let the cold air wash over him, caught in a sudden pleasant daydream of Buffy in a French maid's outfit, wielding a feather duster in one hand and a pair of handcuffs in the other.

"Jerk," he heard her mutter fondly. "And you're thinking about something porny right now, aren't you?" He turned his head over his shoulder and waggled his eyebrows at her, showing his tongue. She knew him so well that he couldn't even pretend to deny it. She rolled her eyes at him.

"You're so very gross. Bottom shelf, in the crisper."

"Huh?" He opened the bottom shelf and found a fresh stack of blood bags, neatly packed. "Bless you, woman," he said fervently, heading for the microwave and collecting a mug along the way. "What would I do without you?"

"You'd probably be living in some cobwebby old crypt somewhere, with only cockroaches to do the dusting." She settled back into her chair and picked up the remains of his coat, frowning at it. "And these don't grow on trees, you know."

The microwave dinged. He grabbed the mug and straddled the chair across the table from her. "So I'll get the Council to buy another one, just like always," he said, taking a sip. "What's the problem?"

She paled. "Oh my God. I've turned into my mother."

He reached across the table and patted her hand. "It's probably just because you haven't killed anything in a while," he soothed. "You want dibs on the next infestation? I don't suggest wearing any new outfits for it, but you can try out the new ax. It's very..."

"No," Buffy said, standing and starting to pace back and forth across the kitchen. "I just...how did she do it? I never really thought about it, but she was such a good mother. She knew how to cook and clean and make Halloween costumes, and she used those little plastic shields in the electrical sockets. And I've got knives and stakes laying around everywhere, and as far as cleaning goes I'm really only good at getting blood out of clothes, which I'm hoping isn't going to be useful in the future, and oh God, what if it's useful? I should know this stuff already. I should know how to turn leather coats into dust rags or diapers or tea cozies or something, and I don't even know what a tea cozy _is_ , but I bet Mom did, and...."

Spike shook his head in bewilderment, watching her trace a path back and forth from the table to the refrigerator. "Buffy," he interrupted. "What are you on about? Since when do we care about rot like tea cozies?"

Buffy paused by the refrigerator, her head down. When she finally turned to face him, he was shocked to see tears in her eyes.

"I have something to tell you," she whispered.

It shouldn't be possible for a dead man to feel his heart leap into his throat. No conversation that started with those words ever ended well. It was an unalterable law of the universe.

"Okay," he said slowly, trying to find his bearings, maybe get some kind of clue as to what she was upset about. He frantically tried to remember everything that had happened between them before he'd left for his little hunting trip, but he couldn't think of anything out of the ordinary. "Is this about the coat?" he joked weakly. "Because if Giles is complaining about the expense account again, I can just tell him I'm raising my fee."

Buffy shook her head and wiped at her eyes with a shaking hand, sitting back down at the table across from him. "I'm sorry," she said with a rueful laugh. "I'm kind of all over the place right now, and I just really wish that Mom was here."

He nodded and wrapped his hands around the now lukewarm mug of blood. "Do you...do you want to talk about it?" he asked, sounding the words out carefully. He felt supremely out of his depth, trying to chart the depths of the Oceans of Buffy. No matter how well he knew her - no matter how long they were together - she was still in some ways a mystery to him. He half suspected that this was less a matter of her being Buffy and more about her simply being a woman, but he couldn't think of a way to express that to her that wouldn't end with him with a bloody nose. And as fun as it was to get caught up in daydreams of foreplay, he had to focus now.

Buffy picked at the wood of the table, and he could see that her hands were still shaking. He moved to cover them with his own, and she latched on gratefully and gave his a squeeze. "God, this is hard," she said, looking down at their joined hands. "I never thought we'd ever be having this conversation. I don't know how people usually do this. Maybe Miss Manners has it in a book somewhere."

He could tell she working herself up to another ramble, and he squeezed her fingers to forestall it. "Come on, out with it," he said, trying for Forceful and Supportive, afraid that he'd landed instead on Nervous and Pleading.

Buffy exhaled a long breath. "I went to the doctor for my yearly checkup yesterday," she said, still looking down at the table. "Lots of fun with poking and prodding and needles and speculums. And Dr. Avis said...well, during the exam she thought...and then she had me take a blood test to be sure, even though I told her it was _not_ possible, except that I guess it is." She looked up at him, and the tears were back. "Do you know what I'm saying?"

He hadn't the faintest idea, but he'd felt his blood freeze at the mention of the doctor. Whatever this was about, it had made Buffy think of her mother. He remembered the last time he'd seen Joyce Summers, pale and drawn, her hair dry and thinned from her illness, and he closed his eyes.

"Are you sick? Is that it?" He was amazed at how steady his voice was.

Buffy's eyes widened. "What? Oh! No. No, that's not it. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...." She broke off with a sobbing laugh. Her eyes were so big in her face, shining with a mixture of terror and...joy? She squeezed his hands, her thumbs sweeping over his knuckles, and gave him a tremulous smile.

"Spike, I'm having a baby."

 

 

**********

 

"I guess you heard the news," Spike said to the night air. He leaned back against the wall that surrounded their apartment complex, the rough stucco scraping his back through the thin t-shirt he wore. "Sorry, I'm fresh out of cigars. I'll have to owe you one."

Angel stepped out of the shadows and took up position next to Spike, staring across the street at nothing in particular. "Yeah," he said tonelessly. "I heard." There was a long pause. "How's Buffy doing?" he asked. It was as if the words were torn out of him.

"She's fine, although I think I may have to get her away from the Council for a while. Entirely for their safety, of course."

Angel snorted. "Let me guess. They're a little curious about the whole thing."

"Like you wouldn't believe," Spike said fervently. "The medical department and the Ancient Prophecies division have been fighting over her for weeks now. I'm just trying to stay out of it all."

"Any news about that?" Angel dug his hands into his coat pockets and stared resolutely across the street. "Any prophecies, I mean?"

"Nothing so far," Spike said. "Personally, I think they're all chasing the wrong beast. This isn't about prophecies or portents or apocalypses or anything else."

"Yeah?" Angel asked, turning to Spike for the first time.

Spike shook his head. "It's a miracle, plain and simple," he said softly. "I don't know how I know, but I'm sure of it."

"You're _sure_?" Angel said incredulously. "Come on, Spike. This isn't natural, and you know it. Look, I know how you're feeling. It's okay if you're scared. It doesn't mean...."

"Oh, lay off with the mentoring, would you?" Spike said in exasperation. "If you and the Council want to predict the end of the world, have at it. I'm going to be a _father_. Do you know how bloody unbelievable this is? You have no clue how I'm feeling!"

Angel's face contorted for a brief second before smoothing out into an emotionless mask. It was so quick that Spike almost missed it. Almost.

"I guess you're right," Angel said. "I wouldn't know anything about it. It's all so simple for you, isn't it?" Without another word, he pushed himself off from the wall and started to walk away. As he reached the edge of the circle of light cast by the street lamp, he paused.

"Congratulations," he said shortly, never turning around. "Take good care of Buffy. And take my word for it: this is the last time you'll ever feel sure about anything again."

Without another word, Angel disappeared into the night. It was many years before Spike saw him again.

 


	2. Chapter 2

  
_February 2013_

_London_

In retrospect, it was a testament to how far they'd come together that the thought that she'd been cheating on him had never once crossed his mind.

The Council had been completely unable to find any explanation for Buffy's pregnancy, either prophetic or medical. For Spike, it didn't matter. The existence of their Miracle Baby had become a fact of life, no more or less disturbing than anything else they'd dealt with over the years. Spike suspected that a few bets were lost among some of the Council members when the amniocentesis determined that he was the genetic father of the baby, but he hadn't been surprised. There'd never been any doubt in his mind on that account.

"Buffy?" he called, pocketing his keys and dropping the bag of takeout on the counter. Their flat was cold and dark, but her scent hung heavy in the air. Wherever she was, she hadn't been gone long. Leaving the food on the counter, he followed his nose to the small crawlspace that led onto the roof.

How in the world she had managed to fit through there he would never know. Her pregnancy seemed to have made her more limber rather than less, although as yet the only outward sign of her condition was her softly rounded belly. He spotted her over by the edge of the roof, gazing blindly down into the street below. She didn't look up as he came over.

"Hey, Spike."

Reaching over, he tried and failed to pull closed the coat that hung open over her shoulders. In a few more weeks, this one wouldn't be able to button around her. "You should cover up," he murmured. "It's cold out here."

She smoothed her shirt over her stomach and pulled the coat a little more tightly around her. "I'm too hot," she complained. "Did you feel how hot it was in the apartment?"

Over the last few months, it seemed as if Buffy's internal thermostat had switched into overdrive. She was always too warm, and had taken to walking around their poorly-insulated flat in a tank top and opening up the windows to let in the winter air. It didn't bother him, so he shrugged his shoulders and let her do whatever she was comfortable with. If anything, the extra heat made cuddling up to her even more enticing. He'd taken to thinking of her as his own private pot-bellied stove. Not that he would ever tell her that, of course.

"I've got dinner," he said, sliding his arms around her waist and leaning his cheek on the top of her head. "You want to come in?"

She settled back against him with a sigh, her attention once more on the traffic below them. "In a minute," she said. "It's nice out here."

He hummed in agreement and ran his hands gently over the swell of her belly. He couldn't get enough of listening to the pulse of her body. Her blood seemed to sing as it raced through her veins, her heart solid and steady. Every gurgle and rumble reminded him of the ice cracking away from a tree at the end of winter, leaving it soft and green with life. And underneath it all was the thready rush of a second heartbeat, quicksilver fast and terrifying in its enormity.

"How's she doing?"

Buffy reached one hand up to rub at her belly in a subconscious gesture. He didn't think she was even aware of how often she did that. "Oh, she's fine. I'm just carrying her around like a backpack, only backward. I hear the hard part's later."

Spike rumbled out a laugh. "What, you mean when she'll actually start moving around on her own? Yeah, I've heard that happens." Buffy stiffened in his arms, and he looked down in alarm. "Hey, what's the matter?"

She sniffled and wiped her nose on the arm of her coat. "Oh, nothing," she croaked. "I'm just completely terrified, that's all."

He drew her more closely against him. "I've been out of the loop. Is there a new apocalypse on the horizon?"

She shook her head. "It's not that. Apocalypses, demons, vampires, you name it - I can handle those. But there was this thing on the news tonight about how the polar ice caps are disappearing much faster than they expected."

He squinted at her. "What now?"

"I know!" She threw up her hands. "Polar ice caps. And there are floods and earthquakes and pollution, and people are at war and gas prices are at an all-time high and apparently we're killing the planet and it all sucks and we're all going to die." She raised her teary face to him. "And I don't know why, but it just got me all upset. What are we doing, bringing a baby into such a sucky place?"

He stared at her. "Buffy. We live in a world where creatures of darkness are trying to kill us and eat our brains on a weekly basis. And you're worried about...global warming?"

She nodded, teary again. With a herculean effort, he swallowed the laugh that threatened to erupt and dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose.

"I wouldn't worry about it," he said seriously. "With our luck, Angel will become perfectly happy again, lose his soul, and reawaken the Ghost of Acathla to suck us all into hell, and then we won't have to think about the polar ice caps any more."

"Really?" she asked hopefully. "You aren't just saying that to make me feel better?"

He did laugh at that one, tickling her belly until she giggled and slapped his hands away.

"Stop it," she muttered. "I know I'm being all crazy and hormonal. You don't have to rub it in."

"Nah," he said, taking her in his arms again. "You're just being a good mum."

"I'm trying," she mumbled into his chest. "I'm just playing everything by ear. The problem is that my ears are telling me fifty different things at once, and I don't know which is right. Does that make sense?"

He nodded. "Perfectly."

She huffed at him. "It's easy for you. You just have to watch me be insane and talk me off the ledge."

"But that's what I'm good at," he said, stroking his fingers through her hair, working out the tangles. "After all, I've had lots of practice at it." He smirked at her outraged look.

"Yeah," she said dryly. "You're Mr. Together. I'd like to remind you of when you threw out my brand new breast pump - which was a _gift_ , thank you very much - because you thought the brand name was a Fyarl curse word."

"Yeah, well." He coughed. "You can never be too careful. And I've grown since then."

"It was last week!"

He distracted her with a long kiss, nibbling at her lips until she relaxed against him with a happy sigh. She wrapped her arm around his waist under his coat and lightly scratched at his stomach, looking out at the night sky.

"What was your father like?"

He frowned at her. "My father?" She nodded, attention focused somewhere off in the distance. "He died when I was - fifteen? No, sixteen. Didn't really get a chance to know him well."

"Hmmm," she hummed. "Were they in love? Your parents?"

He shrugged, tightening his arms around her. "It was different in those times, love. He was kind to her, and he took care of her. I think that was as good as you could expect back then." He peered down at her curiously. "Why are you asking?"

She turned her face up to him and smiled softly. "Oh, nothing. I just think that you're going to be a really good daddy, and I wanted to know where you got it from."

A bug must have flown into his eye. Spike blinked rapidly against the sudden sting and leaned his head down to rest on top of hers. As the cold wind blew, they stood together on the rooftop and watched the stars.


	3. Chapter 3

  
_June 2013_

_Los Angeles_

The moonlight shone through their open window. The night breeze, bringing cool relief from the ocean, was a comfort after the unseasonably warm day.

Spike lay propped against the headboard, Buffy sprawled soft and boneless across his chest. She lay on her side, her cheek on his chest and her belly propped against his leg. He stroked her softly, feeling the muscles in her stomach tighten and relax.

Spike had been warned - both by random nosy individuals and by every single baby book he'd poked his nose into - that he'd need to be sensitive to Buffy's mixed feelings about her changing appearance. He needn't have bothered. As she grew larger - as her breasts and belly rounded and her cheeks filled out - he caught her watching herself in the mirror with fascination. Her hands would trace her body with a wonder second only to his own.

One day he propped a long mirror at the foot of the bed and sat her naked on his lap in front of it. While she blushed pink, he opened his legs and spread hers over the top of his. He lifted her heavy breasts, gently touching the darkened nipples and areolae. He caressed her belly and moved down between her legs, spreading her open where she was pink and wet. She moved against him in sinuous waves, heavy and timeless as the most ancient fertility symbol, worthy of worship, and together they watched as she shuddered and panted in the mirror under the touch of an invisible lover.

As her pregnancy neared its end, she grew so uncomfortable in the heat and comfortable in her own skin that she would wander the house wearing nothing more that a thin t-shirt over her underwear. Sometimes she wore one of Spike's shirts, and he would stare in awe at the dark shadow of her breasts beneath the cotton, at the way her belly would strain against the fabric. Her hands would rise often to caress and hold her own stomach, and in the gesture he could see her cradling their baby.

He still had trouble sounding the words out. _Our baby. Mine and Buffy's. My daughter._ The words had felt foreign even when he'd been alive, and the long, changeless years as a vampire had done nothing to make them more familiar. He had thought that he'd grow more used the words as Buffy's time approached. He'd been wrong.

"Mmmm," Buffy sighed, rolling her head across his chest. He brushed at the sweat beading on her forehead, and she sighed in relief. "Thanks," she muttered, fanning the space between her breasts where more sweat collected. She wore only an old pair of underwear that sagged below her stomach, as well as a nursing bra - she was too uncomfortable these days to go without one. As he watched in fascination, a small wet spot blossomed on the front of the bra. Buffy grimaced.

"Ugh. Please tell me that's not the last clean one." She gave a slight wince, stiffening her back. Spike froze.

"Buffy? Is it...?"

She settled back with a moan. "No, I don't think so. Just starting to get uncomfortable."

Spike glanced at the clock out of habit. After the last several nights of discomfort, the doctor had warned them that the baby could come at any time. "You'll let me know?" he asked.

Buffy chuckled throatily. "Believe me, you'll be the first to know. I'm not about to forget who's responsible for this."

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head in response and let his hands roam down her side and back. She groaned in approval when he began to knead her lower back, and he saw her toes curling as she arched like a cat.

"Yeah," she said sleepily. "Oh, that's so much better."

Her skin glowed in the moonlight, all curves and swells like the tide - rounded heel, rounded knee, rounded belly - and she sighed under his touch. He brought one of his hands around to the front of her stomach and was rewarded with a strong kick to his palm.

"Whoa!" he said, almost pulling his hand away, and she laughed a knowing feminine laugh. She seemed so wise these days, swollen with secrets that no man had ever been privy to.

"Tell me about it," she said. "Someone's almost ready to come out."

She drew his hand back and forth across her stomach, finally pushing it lower so his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of her panties. He touched her gently, just resting his fingers against the wet pearl of her clit as she undulated against him.

"Spike," she breathed, brushing a kiss against his throat. He held her and helped her to rock gently against him, her breathing quickening until she gave a little cry of relief and softened against him.

"Better?" he asked, cradling the limp weight of her body. She nodded against him.

"Uh huh," she mumbled. "Release of...what do you call them? Something. Hormones?"

"Pheromones?" he asked, distracted by the fertile salt smell of her body.

"Mighty Morphin Power Rangers."

It only took him a moment to decipher the mystery of the Buffy Brain. "Endorphins?" he supplied, and she nodded in satisfaction.

"That's the one."

"Hmmm," he mused. "So you're saying I'm just your drug supplier?"

She raised her head and kissed him on the lips. "Absolutely," she said with a firm nod. "Plus you're unbearably sexy, which doesn't hurt. And...oh!" She hunched her back, clutching her stomach with a moan. He placed his hand over hers and felt her skin harden as her muscles tensed. He rubbed her back again as she gritted her teeth and rode out the spasm.

"Buffy," he said worriedly, "maybe we should go."

She glanced at the clock. "I want to wait and see if there's more. It would really suck if we went to the hospital and it's a false alarm."

He nodded and pulled her back against him, rubbing her back slowly as her eyes fell shut. She dozed lightly for another fifteen minutes that seemed to last for several hours. Just as he was thinking that she'd fallen asleep completely, she groaned and opened her eyes, rolling onto her knees and elbows. She whined in pain for a moment before collapsing back onto him.

"Okay," she panted. "It's officially getting worse. I can already tell that this is going to be so much worse than getting stabbed with my own stake. I want the good drugs."

She pushed herself unsteadily to her feet, waddling over to the dresser and collecting the tank top and sweat pants she'd set aside just in case.

"At least baby's considerate enough to do this at night," she said, quickly plaiting her hair into a loose braid. "We wouldn't want daddy to get all dusty driving to the hospital. And hey, I think we should call Giles. He said he'd meet us there and do a security sweep or something. Plus, he said he'd already taken care of getting us a room without windows. I have to say, sometimes the Council sorta rules." She clutched at her lower back, wincing. "Spike? This is kind of it. Are you ready?"

Spike realized that he was still sitting frozen where she'd left him. Was he ready? He'd never felt less ready for anything in his life. In a sudden flash he knew that Angel was right, all those months ago. He wasn't sure about anything anymore. He wasn't sure at all that he could do this, that someone like him could be responsible for an innocent life. What in the hell were the fates playing at, to do this to him? He'd muck it up for sure, the same way he'd mucked up everything else in his sorry existence. He loved Buffy with all his heart, and he loved this baby more than his unlife, but with a sudden clarity borne of utter panic he knew that that love wasn't enough to make everything right. He didn't know what he was doing. What arrogance had made him think he could do this in the first place?

Buffy must have seen the panic on his face. Her eyes softened, and she came to sit back down next to him.

"Hey," she said quietly. "You can do this. Okay? I trust you to take care of us."

He clutched her hand and bowed his head, pressing a kiss to her wrist. As she rubbed the back of his neck, his panic eased. He realized suddenly that, as usual, he'd been facing the problem completely backwards and upside-down. He didn't have to be strong. He could let her comfort him, knowing that in doing so she was giving him the power he needed to be strong for her later. Her trust made him a better man than he had any right to be.

He should have known all along - she'd always been the stronger one.

He lifted his head and dropped a grateful kiss on her forehead. "I'm ready," he said firmly, helping her to her feet and grabbing the bag she'd so carefully packed days ago. _I am a father,_ he thought, tasting the words again, letting them roll around in his brain until, finally, they sounded exactly right. Straightening his shoulders, he led Buffy out of the house and closed the door firmly on the old chapter of their life.


End file.
